


Saudade

by an_upset_librarian



Series: Duende (Elriel Moments) [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Elriel, F/M, background feysand, listen i just love them ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_upset_librarian/pseuds/an_upset_librarian
Summary: SAUDADE: (Portuguese) a melancholy nostalgia for something that perhaps has not even happened"	The saving grace in her life in Velaris was when Azriel joined her out in her garden, eager to help. His presence, although silent, was a comfort. They wouldn’t speak much, just small talk about food or what to do to help the vegetables get through a bad case of root rot. Their conversations were barely conversations at all, but Elain treasured them.Sure, she loved Feyre and loved talking and laughing with her, but sometimes Elain wanted silence. Her mind was loud enough as it was already, and Azriel’s quiet presence soothed the painful buzzing of her curse. Feyre would say her powers were a gift, but Elain was the one who had to live with them.“Elain, I was wondering if I could ask you something,” Azriel began."





	Saudade

Elain never knew when reality began or ended. She could speak to someone and not know if it was real, or simply just a vision. She looked at her sisters, the strange men-_males,_ as they visited but saw a million futures exploding behind her eyes, a galaxy of connections immeasurable in its complexities.

She would hear the rustle of the tree outside a window and be transported through memory, or foresight, and see something new or old. Past or future. She could smell scones baking in the kitchens, the scent bringing memories of her human life but also visions of Feyre staring in a shop window, young and thin, with hunger in her gaze. Elain could see her youngest sister walk into the shop, covered in muck and smelling like death, and offer the skin of her fresh kill for a scone to bring back home for Elain’s birthday.

Or she would see the fires burning too fast and too bright and encompassing her senses, the conflagration bringing screams and cries in its wake as it burned through forests and villages and homes.

So, she sat, by the window, and stared at the space behind the house and envisioned a garden. A garden like the one she tended in her human home, a garden she knew she would tend to years from now with strange fae plants and flowers. They were beautiful, and she knew one day they would be planted in that scant plot of earth she stared at, but the days blurred together. Before she knew it, months had passed, and she was still lost.

Until the day the quiet male, Azriel, said three simple words.

_“You’re a Seer.”_

In that moment everything snapped together. The universe whirling inside her head paused long enough for her to see the whole picture, to join in the dance twirling in her head.

_Seer_.

Though she had never heard the word before, it made complete sense. That’s what she was now. Not human, not truly high fae. Something else. Something Other. She should have felt comfort from knowing what was happening to her, but instead she felt alone and misplaced.

She was not like her sisters, not like the Illyrians, not like anyone. Elain had never been unique in that way before. She was just Elain. The simple, naïve sister who loved to garden and loved her family.

Now she was Elain the Seer. Elain the Made.

She had no place in Feyre’s world, in her home. As the months passed and the war ended, she only felt like more of an outsider as Nesta pushed her away to drink and fuck her feelings away, refusing to acknowledge the shattered pieces of Elain’s heart she stomped to dust in the process. She wasn’t a warrior like Feyre, wasn’t a leader or a spy. She was just simple Elain.

So, she turned to gardening and baking. They were familiar, and Elain found she adapted quickly to the new foods of the fae lands and the new plants. She adapted, but a piece of her still felt lost and alone.

Soon, a few weeks after the war’s dramatic and violent end, she learned to live with the nightmares. She learned how to talk to Feyre again, learned about her life since being taken by Tamlin. They grew close again, talking by the fire every night after supper. But still Elain could not admit to the terrors haunting her dreams or the visions clouding her mind or the regret tugging at her heart.

Elain tried to talk to Nesta for a while, despite Feyre and Rhys’s concerned conversations, but her older sister would never acknowledge her. Never answer her letters or her visits. Elain tried, but after weeks of constant rejection she wrote less. Walked to Nesta’s apartment less, until she stopped visiting all together.

She knew Feyre and Rhys talked about her, about Nesta, and about their relationship and how Elain was ‘adjusting’. She was gifted with Fae hearing after all, something everyone else seemed to forget. Some nights, when she stayed up late tending to the night blooming flowers in her garden, she could hear Feyre’s sobs and Rhys’s mumbled comforts.

It was those nights that hit her the hardest. When Elain remembered that she was supposed to have that. Have a husband, a lover, a person to share herself with. On those nights, she would return to her room and sit silently on her bed as the tears spilled down her cheeks, staring down at the iron engagement ring sitting almost accusingly on her dresser. A constant reminder of what she should have had, of what she had ripped away.

The saving grace in her life in Velaris was when Azriel joined her out in her garden, eager to help. His presence, although silent, was a comfort. They wouldn’t speak much, just small talk about food or what to do to help the vegetables get through a bad case of root rot. Their conversations were barely conversations at all, but Elain treasured them.

Sure, she loved Feyre and loved talking and laughing with her, but sometimes Elain wanted _silence_. Her mind was loud enough as it was already, and Azriel’s quiet presence soothed the painful buzzing of her curse. Feyre would say her powers were a gift, but Elain was the one who had to live with them.

“Elain, I was wondering if I could ask you something,” Azriel began. He was sitting by the outer wall of the greenhouse, basking in the sunlight with his great wings spread out behind him. Elain paused, wiping the sweat from her brow and placing her trowel down on the raised edge of the new plot she was creating. She would be planting a rare species of night blooming flowers that Rhys gifted her in time for spring.

“What is it?” she asked, sensing he didn’t want to know what she planned to cook for dessert later that night. Azriel shifted, his gaze locked on hers. His jaw clenched, and she could see the indecision in his hazel eyes. His shadows curled along his neck and crawled to caress his jawline.

“It’s about your Seer powers.” He stated, keen eyes observing every shift and movement she made in response to his words. Elain stiffened and looked down at the trowel and the plot of soil she was working on. She picked up the trowel and tossed her braid over her shoulder and returned to layering fertilizer in the soil before answering. “What about them?”

She heard Azriel stand and walk towards her and felt his presence at her side as she worked. She could practically see the wall of blankness between what he truly felt and what he projected to the world as she turned to meet his stare. “I was wondering if they were growing too intense again.”

“That’s not a _question_,” she said tersely. Azriel’s wings opened slightly and the corner of his mouth twitched. The only reaction he would let show to her snark. He raised a brow and waited for her to answer. Sighing, she wiped her hands on her skirt and stood. Azriel was still over a full head taller than her, but Elain straightened her spine and shoulders and held his icy gaze. His eyes saw too much. Shadows whorled around his collar and up to his jawline, whispering their secrets in his ear.

“Nothing too bad. I’m growing used to them,” Elain said. Azriel’s face remained blank and he nodded in response. There was a tense moment of silence, where Elain could tell he didn’t believe her and Azriel simply stared down at her with his dark eyes. She swore she could see something burning in those hazel eyes, something foreign and tempting, but as quickly as she saw it, he turned away and glanced back at the townhouse.

“Will we be having duck for dinner today?” He asked, swiftly changing the subject. Elain nodded, moving to walk into the house. Azriel followed her, his hands held behind his back and his wings spread behind him. Elain’s shoulder brushed against his as they walked, and she felt warmth dance across her skin.

“Yes, Nuala told me they bought some early this morning. It’s been marinating all day, so it should be wonderful,” Elain answered. Azriel nodded. He asked about the spice blend she chose to season the gamey meat, and Elain happily began reciting her recipe and how she developed it.

Azriel listened, adding a noise of confusion here and there to have her elaborate, and Elain decided to forget about her powers for a moment. She talked to Azriel all the way down to the kitchens in the belly of the house, happy for his company and happier for his discretion. It occurred to her later that his shadows surely already told him what she was making for dinner, and that he was merely humoring her to keep her occupied. And Elain couldn’t decide if she was thankful for it or annoyed with his coddling.

She would settle for thankful, since no one else in the house seemed as interested in her marinade or her powers. Why would they, when she was just simple Elain, after all.

~~~~~~~~

Elain spent her new life covered in dirt and flour. She woke up every morning and went down to tend to her garden, then she would venture to the kitchens where she would help finish breakfast and begin preparing lunch while the rest of the Inner Circle ate her delicious scones and pastries in the next room. She would eat a quick bite before returning to her garden and working on the vegetables, harvesting what was ready and weeding the plot.

Then she would return to the kitchens, crumbling dirt speckled across her skin and streaked across her dress with twigs and leaves tangled in her skirts and wash up before helping the staff prepare dinner.

Azriel knew Elain’s daily routine like the back of his scarred hand, simple as it was. She always had a smile on her face as she worked, and when it came time for her to join her sister for supper, Elain would fix her hair and wipe down her dress before emerging from the kitchens, usually with a platter of food in her arms.

As the Night Court spymaster, Azriel was expected to know the comings and goings of everyone in the court, especially those of importance. But to say Elain Archeron had captured his attention was an understatement.

Even as a mortal, before the war began, Azriel could see the quiet strength beneath Elain’s peaceful exterior. He sensed it in the stories Feyre told about her childhood and the hardships her family endured, he saw it when he met her for the first time, surrounded by immortal fae warriors. He saw it when she emerged from the Cauldron, dripping with new power.

He gave her Truthteller that fateful day, after listening to his shadows foreboding advice. She would need it more, they said. So, he let her use it for protection, knowing in his heart that Elain would have the strength to wield the intimidating weapon. And she did. She saved her sister and Cassian, who was Azriel’s brother.

She saved them, and he would never forget it.

To everyone else in the townhouse, Elain was the picture of recovery and happiness, but Azriel knew better. His shadows whispered tales of her nightmares and tears every morning and he could see the weight on her shoulders despite her attempts to look as cheery as possible.

He remembered, the months where she could do nothing but sit and stare out the window into the gardens, malnourished and exhausted. He remembered the vacancy in her gaze when he looked at her, as if she was looking through him and into something beyond. Some other time. He remembered when Elain was lost in the sea of her visions, lost in the strange power she possessed.

Strange, that she stopped showing signs of having visions after the war.

Stranger that nobody else seemed to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another part to this little collection, I hope you enjoy! I love writing them. I hope you enjoyed and don't forget to leave a comment! I love hearing from anyone who reads my writing.


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